Fête de la Musique

What can I say?  The French will celebrate anything.  They celebrate everything and anything.  The end of World War I.  The end of World War II.  The signing of a strategic alliance between Britain and France before World War I.  A celebration of wine.  A Fête du Pain.  A Fête du fromage.  A holiday celebrating sheep, cows, pigs, gâteaux, and even la grève [i.e. the right to go on strike although this fête is poorly attended.......       ]

Okay, maybe I am exaggerating but today and all of tonight, was the Fête de la Musique.  The French may also be celebrating the summer solstice, but June 21st is the celebration of music.  I was here last year for the fête but everything was so new that I didn't really grasp the magnitude of this celebration.  Last year I walked around to one or two places and gazed, like a deer in the headlights, not knowing what to expect or experience.  This year I was prepared.  But first a quick note.

France has a population of 64 million.  Paris has a population of 2.2 million and the greater metro area has a population of 11.4 million.  This year, competing with the fête, was the World Cup with 3 games being played today.  Maybe not quite the Superbowl [yet] but at least the playoffs.  You would think that would keep some people away.  But no.  Apparently, 82 percent of Parisians were out in the streets.  And from my walking around, they were all  in my neighborhood.

For perspective, and for those of you who have visited us, normally it takes 3 seconds to reach Blvd St Germain from our apartment - today it took about 3 minutes to work our way through the crowd just to reach the Blvd!!  We could hear a drummer across Blvd St Germain by the Cluny - he was drumming his heart out.  No, this wasn't just some head-banger beating the tom-toms.  This guy was good....no, great.  To date myself, think Ginger Baker or Keith Moon great.

After a few minutes of listening to the drummer, we ploughed our way back over  St Germain and worked our way down our crowded street, the music was hypnotic.  There was a band or artist nearly every 15 meters or so.  I must point out that it is illegal to play loud music on public streets but this is the one day that it isn't.  Everybody turns out to play, sing, dance, or just watch and listen.

Slowly, we made it to the bottom of our street, across Blvd St Michel, and towards Place St Michel.  It was a madhouse.  A sea of humanity and at least 10 different bands, dancers, drummers, and singers, all competing for your attention.  We crawled down rue St André des Arts, stopping at a steel guitarist playing Dylan and bluesy Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee, a heavy metal band playing god knows what, and an accordian player accompanied by a singer before making it to our favorite band who now call themselves "Walking the Dog".

 

They play in front of La Dernière Goutte, one of our favorite wine shops in the 6ième..  Juan, the wine shop owner and who is unfortunately blocked from view by the lead singer, is the drummer.  Advertised to appear are four bands but, as we learned last year, "Walking the Dog" is their fourth incantation so it's just one band with four names.....but that's okay because they are very good.  After listening to a set, we continued to walk around the 6ième.  We probably listened to about five or six more bands [and I use the term loosely].  One colorful troupe consisted of sisters done up as clowns - les Soeurs Jacquines - not my verre du vin but they had great voices and were singing some wonderful old French standards, handing out the lyrics, and asking everyone to join in....which most of the folks did.....my excuse was that I haven't had time to learn to sing in French, I am still trying to learn to speak it....that, and the fact that I sound like a cat getting run over by a steamroller.

Anyway, on our way back home, we stopped off at one of our favorite restaurants, Fish La Boissonnerie to wet the whistle.  After downing a glass of  wine, we were ready to crawl back through the crowds to our flat.  The weather was perfect.  The crowds were friendly. The artists were encouraging but one glass of wine is not enough encouragement for me to sing.  However, on a final note, if you are planning to visit Paris, the 21st of June and the Fête de la Musique is not to be missed.

The World Cup & La Crise Économique

I just have to blog this rant. No pictures, just words.

We just got back from native Parisian Olivier Giraud’s one-man comedy show “How to Become a Parisian in One Hour.” The show is mostly in English, peppered with Olivier’s favorite French expressions (no, I cannot repeat them here!). There were more Parisians in the audience than English-speaking folks. That’s ironic. Parisians going to an English-speaking show to learn how to become Parisian (ou peut-être plus parisien?).  Olivier’s first lesson on how to become a Parisian is to be arrogant because “we are!” And as I’ve blogged before, the French are arrogant. Not “in-your face” arrogant. Sophisticated arrogance. So sophisticated, in fact, that they aren’t even aware of it. It’s a national characteristic. Pas de problème. And so is their irony.

As you know, the French are a world power in football [soccer to us Yanks]. They were actually 8-1 odds on to win the World Cup. Well, they drew with Uruguay [0-0]; lost to Mexico [0-2]; and then went on strike! En grève! Yup, these super-rich, spoiled, superstar elite athletes went en grève. They refused to train, to practice, or to listen to their coach. They even foul-mouthed their coach in the press and the media.

Of course, the French were livid. How could their national team disgrace themselves and the nation by going on strike? The final straw was losing to South Africa [1-2]. South Africa, a team whose only qualification for getting into the final 32 teams of the World Cup was that they were the host nation. In response, the team was sent back to France in steerage. Even Sarkozy demanded that he personally debrief Thierry Henry. The “en grève” French team had to explain itself to the President of France. I would like to have been a fly on the wall of the Palais de l'Elysée that day!

Now, for those of us not living in Europe, the Eurozone is in the crapper. Two year ago, when the US starting bailing out companies and loaning out money via TARP, Europeans were dismissive; we were overreacting. Today, the bankers and financiers are looking longingly across the pond and kicking themselves for not following the US lead.

Sure, we have an $8 trillion national debt but France, Germany, and the UK each have $1+ trillion debt. So now they are tightening their belts, making important budget cuts, and trying to reign in their social security systems. Just like Greece had to raise the retirement age from 55 to 60, the UK is raising the age to 67, Germany to 65, and the French, to the whopping old age of 62.

Needless to say, the French are going ballistic or at least 50 percent of them are. Last Thursday, nearly 50 percent of the country was en grève. Fifty percent! Subways, buses, regional trains, TGV, car factories, manufacturers, airports, pilots, farmers, students, teachers, everyone is on strike. The next morning on the news, François Fillon (France’s Prime Minister), repeated one more time that malheuresement, France can no longer continue to subsidize retirement ages of 60 years with full benefits and pay…

Ok, so here’s the irony. The Eurozone governments are all making the tough decisions to balance their budgets. And their people, for the most part, understand and are going along with the necessary cuts. So while the French national football team has disgraced the nation by going on strike, the French people find no problem in taking it to the streets. Power to the people. We deserve our full retirement at 60 with full benefits. Forget the fact that we only work 35 hours a week. Or that our schooling and medical care is provided for. Or that we get 6 weeks vacation a year plus holidays. And all civil service employees get paid 13 months salary for what I recall, even in France, is still a 12-month year. Spoiled? Pampered? Nope, en grève. Ironic, n’est-ce pas?

Fête du Pain

The French love their bread.  I love their bread....almost as much as I love their wine [which explains a lot about my expanding waistline].  On top of that, the French love festivals - they celebrate everything here - they have festivals to celebrate their love of festivals!  To the point, there must be a few thousand individual boulangeries and patisseries scattered throughout Paris.  There's an annual baguette bake-off where hundreds of artisinal bakers from all over France come to compete for the "Best Baguette in France" title.  So on an evening walk through the Notre Dame Cathedral courtyard, we came upon the "Fête du Pain" festival.

It was closed but due to open at 9AM the following morning.  As we walked around the courtyard, we could see all sorts of interesting, albeit, closed stalls, exhibits, and one very large tented hall.  Interesting enough to cause us to wake up early the next day and walk down for a real visit......and we weren't disappointed.

As noted, the stalls and exhibits were about all things bread AND what you may want to put on or in bread....think saucisson, beurre, and fromage.  And just in case you need to wash down this bread there were a few coffee and tea salons as well as the ubiquitous "magasin du vin."

But the really interesting thing was the huge hall.  Although we couldn't see everything inside the hall last night, what we saw was very interesting.  Outside the hall were huge electric distribution panels because inside the hall were dozens of massive commercial ovens.  During our nighttime walk, it didn't look like much.  But in the daytime, with the hall open, we were presented with an incredible sight.

Dozens of bakers were mixing flour, kneading dough, rolling all sorts of rolls, breads, buns, cookies and cakes.  And they were doiing it on a commercial scale.  In this one section, there were 4 or 5 bakers making baguettes.  Two dozen baguettes on a single tray were being made.  One baker would roll out the baguette and place it onto this canvas roll that wrapped around, what looked to me to be a bread gurney!  Except that the bread gurney didn't rise up and down like a gurney for people.  As he made each baguette roll, another bakery would take a simple razor blade that was attached to a straw, and put a slit down each baguette roll of dough.  When all 20 loaves were slit, the gurney was moved in front of the oven.

Now this huge oven contained over 20 bread trays, 10 trays on each side, all baking away.  The gurney was raised to the level of an empty tray slot, the oven opened, and the entire top of the gurney rammed into the oven.  Then the crank was turned and the gurney came out of the oven, sans the bread tray.....20 new loaves of bread a-baking.

Then the empty gurney was placed in front of a fully baked bread tray and rammed into the oven.  A repeat of the cranking and out came 20 fully baked baguettes.  And then these bakers would pick up 4 or 5 loaves at a time, right out of the oven, and bare-handedly carry these steaming hot loaves into a bread basket.  I guess one requirement for being a baker is not to be able to feel pain...or at least heat.

Of course, eating the fruits of their labor is the point but when bread is not enough, buy a sandwich.....

Another Mystery - Padlocks of Love

After solving the mystery of those rolls of carpet that are found on every street in Paris in our last blog, I mentioned those padlocks found on the guard rails of the walking bridges that cross the Seine. I guess I didn’t really notice them last year. I guess I was too agog looking at the Louvre, the Seine and the gorgeous Institut de France as I was walking back and forth on the Pont des Arts.  I mean, really, who would notice these padlocks of various sizes attached to the fences on either side of the bridge when you are staring at the Louvre? But having taken a 3 month break from Paris to get warm in Delray Beach, quelle difference?

I guess last year, I sort of noticed the locks; at least enough to ask Katherine what she thought of them. And as the year progressed, you don’t really notice two or three locks growing into 6 or 7 locks, then multiplying to 20 or 30 locks. You get the picture. Walking frequently over the Pont des Arts, the small, gradual increase in the number of locks goes unnoticed. It’s like looking in the mirror every day and then one day you become aware that your hair is way too long and you need a haircut. 

Well the first time this spring we walked over the Pont des Arts, it was like a lock plague had occurred.  Hundreds, no thousands, of locks were attached to the fences. This time I had to find out what these locks were all about.  Last year I thought that maybe the locks were remnants of bike thefts. You see these remnants all over Paris.  People park their bikes and lock them up next to a fence or lamp pole. Sometimes all you see is a broken wheel attached to the pole; the rest of the bike is gone. Sometimes you see a smashed bike. Sometimes only a bike lock. But on closer inspection, these padlocks are different.

Some of these padlocks are so small they can barely close around the chain link. And upon a really close look, there is writing on the locks. And then the mystery is solved. They are padlocks of love!  Names, initials, dates, and hearts are scraped in the metal lock surfaces. Undying love, forever declared, permanently on display for all to see.

So when Ross and his girlfriend, Diana, came to stay with us for a few days, we took them to the Louvre. We walked over the Pont des Arts and showed them the locks. Shock of shocks, the French lock police had swooped in and removed all the locks…..or at least most of them…..or more locks had been added since the lock purge just a few days before (the padlock purge made all the news, both the telly and the papers).... In any case, Ross and Diana continued on to explore the Louvre and we went shopping at le marché Maubert, our local market. 

On rue Monge, after Katherine had had her fix of "pain sucré" from the famed boulangerie "Eric Kayser," we spied a store selling several kinds of padlocks. We bought one for Ross and Diana.  That night, they worked on “engraving” their padlock of love (or "cadenas d'amour") and the next morning they placed it on the Pont des Arts.  Diana gave us strict instructions on where to locate it - "face the Louvre, then look for it on the left in the middle of the crossbar, after the second "poubelle" (garbage can)."  Sure enough, a few days after they left, we strolled over to the Pont des Arts and, voilà, there was their cadenas d'amour.  Katherine frequently walks across the Pont des Arts on her way to the shops on the rue Rivoli on the Right Bank so she's been checking on it (more regularly than I would like, I must say...) Soon enough,  the "cadenas d'amour" police will surely come along in the dark of night and snip it off along with the other accumulating hordes.   Until then we'll keep our eye on it until we leave Paris in October.  And who knows, maybe Katherine and I will lock our love on the bridge…